Beck and Call
by Maia's Pen
Summary: "I miss the sound of her heartbeat. I want to tell her so, but I won't because that would sound creepy. Given our current kidnapped-and-held-captive situation, I'm guessing that Elena Gilbert is creeped-out enough as it is." *Set post-season 3 finale. Vampires Elena, Stefan and Damon are ambushed and abducted - their kidnappers highly experienced in keeping the undead down.
1. Chapter 1

**Beck and Call**

By Maia's Pen

Chapter 1

I miss the sound of her heartbeat. I want to tell her so, but I won't because that would sound creepy. Given our current _kidnapped-and-held-captive_ situation, I'm guessing that Elena Gilbert is creeped-out enough as it is. I'll keep my longings for the euphonious functioning of her cardiovascular system to myself. I do possess self-control despite what the residents of Mystic Falls may believe. The fact that I am trapped in this vampire-escape -proof cell with Elena and Stefan and have not dropkicked his head in proves it.

I blame Stefan -not for us presently being held prisoner, I have no damned clue what this is all about. I blame Stefan for allowing Elena to die. That's right: I. BLAME. STEFAN. Stefan Salvatore, all-powerful vampire who can snap a tree trunk like a toothpick, but can't handle dragging two measly humans out of a submerged car at the same time. I am astounded that he can eat with chopsticks or ride a bike. Rescuing Elena and Matt should have been child's-play. What's wrong with him? Has animal blood diluted his coordination? Made him that unforgivably weak? If I had been in Stefan's position I could have saved them both. But, if for some reason I had to choose, hands-down it would have been Elena. Matt would be a waterlogged corpse. Why? Because she is Elena and I will always save her. I can't not save her. I don't give two shits how pissed-off she would have been or if she had fought me kicking and screaming all the way to the surface. I would have saved Elena and be listening to her melodious heartbeat right now. I will bask in her hatred any day over her nonexistence.

The fact that Elena chose Stefan over me, _again_, changes nothing. The fact that she now possesses fangs and bloodlust changes nothing. I must be addicted to wretchedness; thrive on being the _bad brother. _When it comes to Elena I'm an emotional masochist. There was a nano-second where I thought that if she loved me that I could be a better me . . . ah, to hell with that_. Better Damon_ sounds stupid, _Bad Damon_ is much cooler.

"Damon, do you hear anything?"

"Are you really going to ask me the same question twelve times, Brother?"

"Well, do you?" Stefan's voice is drenched in desperate demand. I don't have to look at him to see the worry creasing his brow; he's such a nervous-nelly. He's been like this since he was two and he's gotten worse with age. He needs to relax, take a lesson from a vintage bottle of Cabernet. Stefan is lucky that he is not still human or he'd have given himself a nervous-breakdown before his hair turned grey. "Do you think the Originals are behind this? Or maybe the leftover Klaus hybirds? I can't figure out why I feel so weak and why we can't break out of this cell. What could this door possibly be locked with?" To make his point Stefan jiggles the door handle for the millionth time; and for the millionth time the door doesn't budge.

I squint, pinching the skin between my eyebrows in lieu of the flesh from his face. "Let's be silent, Brother. We don't know who could be eavesdropping so we should keep our theories to ourselves. By the way, that's thirteen."

Of course I want to escape, but we can't. Of course I want to know what the hell is going on and why we were abducted, but I don't. The only thing that we can do is conserve our energy, sit tight and wait. Our vamp-nappers are bound to show up eventually.

I'm not exactly sure how we got here, in this cell; I just know that we were ambushed and abducted. After Elena awoke from death as a vampire, Stefan convinced her to drink human blood and complete the transition. With her transition finished, Doctor Fell was comfortable releasing her into Stefan's custody, which I'm fairly certain, was this morning. Of course it is impossible to gauge time when you have been unconscious for god-knows how long.

I picked-up Stefan and Elena at the hospital and drove them to the boarding house. The drive was a touch awkward because Elena was ignoring me, but at least Stefan seemed as normal as Stefan can be. Elena must not have told him about our conversation prior to her death, the one where she chose him. Anyway, I'm not sure how to explain what happened next . . . our kidnappers were waiting for us. As we walked from the car to the front porch they _darted_ us. _Darted us_ as in_ shot us_ with medicated darts. The idea itself is laughable because I could be shot-up with enough tranquilizers to take down a bull elephant and stay on my feet. These kidnapers -their little vampire heist - was legit, impeccably well-planned. I don't know what they laced those darts with but it was not Vervain, it was worse. As far as I have been aware in my nearly two centuries of existence: Vervain has been our one and only true weakness, so it's a tad unnerving to realize that there is now something else, some bizarre drug that can lay us out-flat in an instant.

The accuracy of our abductors aim was unbelievable, we didn't even hear them coming. Sneaking up on three vampires is an impressive feat. All I remember is the _pop-pop-pop_ -sound. Being a new vampire Elena was the most vulnerable and she went down first. Not surprisingly I-don't-drink-human-blood-right-now-Stefan went down next, followed by me. We all woke up here, about an hour ago, with bad headaches and even worse outfits. For some reason our captors dressed all three of us in identical black and red checkered hospital gowns, which barely keep the draft off of my checks, if you know what I'm sayin'. To top it off we are being stored in this gross box of a room. It's barely a ten-by-ten foot space, no furnishings or windows, just a solid metal door and the delightful fragrance of mildew. The door won't budge at all. We've already tried breaking through; it's beyond any of our physical prowess. This room is not unlike the cell in our basement that was used to hold the late Evil Rick. I cringe at the memory of Rick's passing . . .

"Damon," Stefan seethes my name, yanking me from my silent mourning. "I definitely hear something. Will you please try to listen? It disturbs me that you can't hear this."

"It disturbs me that you were born without a brain."

"Damon, this really isn't the time-"

"Oh relax, Brother, at your age you should have learned how to take a joke by now-"

"Damon!" Elena shouts my name and like a well-trained dog I can't stop my sight from finding hers. Dammit, where is my impulse-control when I need it? When my self-preservation is on the line?

Dead Elena Gilbert is as disarmingly gorgeous as the living version. Physiologically I am no longer capable of blushing, and for that I am presently thankful. Looking into her eyes has always been my undoing; if she demands my attention I am helplessly at her beck and call. Loyal with every beat of my black heart . . . metaphorically speaking of course, since my heart hasn't properly functioned since 1864. Gee whiz, am I ever fixated on heartbeats today? I must be suffering withdrawal from Elena's.

Realization hits me like a wrecking-ball drenched in Vervain: Elena is an immortal vampire. Elena will spend eternity loving Stefan. I will spend eternity wising that she would love me instead, yada-yada, blah-blah. Oh, what a wonderful infinity I have ahead of me. I really need to get a hobby. Maybe I should download the new Angry Birds app?

"Damon! Are you listening?" Elena repeats her verbal assault, oblivious to the affect her voice has on me. I guess that puts me another notch up on the creep-o-meter, being captivated by her yelling at me qualifies as creepy. Elena has not spoken to me at all since she . . . died. I am hearing my name upon her blood-thirsty vampire lips for the very first time. That's hot. Yeah, creep-o-meter skyrocketing.

If Elena wants my attention; I'll give it to her. My sight holds its own against the acquisition in hers, but my valor is fleeting. The turmoil in her gaze is overwhelming: shades of sorrow, regret and resentment battle one another before all crashing down upon me - earth obliterates ice and I blink, my sight finding sanctuary upon a moldy crack in the tile floor. Elena is a far grander sight to behold, but at least the moldy crack doesn't make me want to gouge my own eyes out with my thumbs. Elena has never been so furious with me, not even when I snapped her brother's neck. I'm guessing that her subconscious has granted her a few welcoming gifts into vampirism. _Gifts_ being a nice way of saying _suppressed memories_. A few suppressed _compelled_ memories, to be exact. I don't have to ask, it's been on her face since she was reborn a bloodsucker: Elena remembers everything. Everything that I compelled her human-self to forget and I reckon that she is none too happy about it. In some ways it's actually a relief that she remembers, but it's also embarrassing . . . for one thing, she now recalls seeing me _cry_ after my first confession of love to her. Oh well, it's not like I do it all the time. I'm still manly, dammit.

Manly and . . .

. . . and suddenly exhausted. I shift my weight, relaxing against the cool wall. Have I slept at all this decade?

Now Weariness smashes me like a sucker-punch from Klaus.

I'm on my ass. My legs have given out, totally collapsed beneath me - unreliable sons of bitches!

Stefan is talking to me, he sounds rushed, panicky, but for some reason I can't comprehend his words, it's like he is speaking an alien language.

Elena joins Stefan in looming over me, their faces look weird . . . worried? They look like freaky checkerboard aliens in those gowns . . . hmm . . . now whose topping the creep-o-meter? I vote for the loomy checkerboard alien twins.

Wha-? Where'd they go? Stefan and Elena are gone. Dead flesh replaced by blackness. The entire room is gone . . . utterly swallowed by the dark.

I must be inside of a coffin. Good, now I can finally rest.

Wait! This isn't normal . . . what am I thinking? My body-something-is . . .

. . . _Shit! _ I'm cringing, cursing_, _bucking_, oh god . ._ .

. . . There is lava in my veins! Molten lava sears through my right forearm. My body buckles, crumpling like a ball of burning paper. What is happening to me! My mind functions as my body is devoured by liquid flame!

I can feel Stefan at my side, supporting my weight, keeping my face from the floor. I hear him talking again, he sounds distant, but I am able to isolate a few words and they are not comforting: "He's convulsing!" Stefan announces my state as though Elena or I can actually do anything about it.

"Is he having a seizure?" Elena sounds terrified and I can feel her eyes upon me like twin searchlights, scanning for the source of my pain. Strange how I am ignorant to what is happening to my own body, yet so able to notice the proximity of hers – she is nearby, but physically distant, allowing Stefan to hold me.

"Damon!" Stefan's voice cracks, he is teetering over Panicville. He pulls me to my knees, forcing me to face him. "What the hell is wrong?"

On cue to his question I blink back to reality, as though I've just been injected with ice water, chasing away the unbearable lava burn. I shrug as nonchalantly as possible, my arms feel like wilting plants and I fail to shove Stefan away from me. "I dunno, I'm fine, quit hovering." I force a smile, knowing it looks fake.

Stefan clings to me like saran wrap, not at all deterred by my shoving attempt. "That didn't look fine! You were having a seizure or something, Damon!"

"Stefan's right, Damon, stop being so damn proud. You are HURT! JUST ADMIT IT!" Elena has gone full-out vamp-o: crimson veins burst around her eyes, lacing them like an intricate spider web tattoo. She is ravenous, dangerous, irate, panting, seething, crawling out of her skin and so unbearably sexy. Stefan and I both forget what the hell is going on and gape at her.

Elena hisses like a super bitchy feral cat, show-boating her pearly-white fangs. I smother a smirk. Elena is what I like to call _hangry –_ something new vampires experience constantly - they are hungry and angry 24/7. Anything that ticks them off also makes them ravenous and visa-versa. Elena is unaware of her physical change and (thankfully) the fact that she's caused my gown to feel a smidge too tight in the frontal region. She continues her tantrum, fangs bared: "Why are you so selfish, Damon?"

Good Samaritan Stefan steps-in: "Elena, calm down. If Damon did not want us to know that he was injured, then that's his burden." Stefan coaches her, but does not let go of me or make any movement toward her. I think he is preparing to protect me, should she attack. It's times like these that I really adore my little bro. Stefan continues his well-meaning lecture: "It's normal for new vampires to overreact during emotional stress, but, Elena, you need to practice recognizing when you are overreacting so that you can rein yourself in."

God bless Stefan, that oblivious big-headed tart. He thinks Elena is just stressed out from her rebirth, transition and now being kidnapped. He does not even seem to notice the scalding sideways glares that she has been berating me with or the fact that this momentary hissy-fit contained more words than Elena's addressed me with since turning vampire. I'm not a rocket scientist but I know that her accusing me of being selfish had nothing to do with me supposedly hiding my injury. How ironic that we three have been kidnapped and jailed and my priority is missing her heartbeat, hers is lancing me with bitch-eye, while Stefan is rightly concerned about what is going to happen to us. I'm off my game, usually I'm the planner.

"It's okay, Stefan," I finally manage to shrug out of his grasp. "I'm not sure what happened, my arm just started hurting . . ."

Both Stefan and Elena snap their full-attention upon me, making me feel very self-conscious.

"So does mine," Elena indicates to her to her right forearm.

"And mine," Stefan frowns, "though not as much as yours obviously, that can't be a coincidence."

"Thank you for stating the obvious Stefan!" Elena snarls, causing a resurgence of scarlet to garnish her eyes.

Stefan chooses not to acknowledge her new vampire PMS. "Damon, what do you think our shared arm pain means? Do you think Elena or I might suffer a convulsion too?"

I grind my teeth; apparently he thinks that I have magically obtained a medical degree in vampire science. I am freaked out by whatever-the-hell caused me to convulse and I am working really hard not to show it. Usually when I am this freaked I'll just devour a teenage girl or at least a bottle of bourbon, since I don't currently have access to either I remind myself not to punch him in the knee and I answer truthfully: "No clue, but god only knows what our kidnapers could have done to us while we've been out cold. They could have extracted every bone in our forearm and we'd never really know. We've obviously been out long enough to nearly heal from whatever it was." I roll up my sleeve, proving that there are no physical signs of tampering.

"Well, we may find out soon," Stefan warns, rushing to the door. "Damon, I swear that I hear something. I think someone is coming!"

I roll my eyes and my brother gives me one of his mature _good, noble Stefan_ looks – the one that is disappointed in me for not taking the impending doom of our immortal lives seriously. No matter how many times I disappoint him, he always seems to think that it's the last time. His misguided faith in me is flatteringly irritating right now. I don't respond to his comment about someone coming, I don't hear anything and I have nothing to say (it happens once or twice in a decade). I choose to remain seated on this cold, hard, fungi-infested floor and admire the masterpiece which is Stefan and Elena. She joins him to listen at the door, he enfolds her in his arms and she cuddles against his chest. The décor of bloodlust instantly fades from her eyes and she looks like my Elena again. Got to love new vamp mood swings. Stefan plants a soft kiss upon her head and they make lovey-dovey eye contact. How sweet, I bet they thought they'd have all of eternity to spend canoodling together, but now, with this sudden twist of fate their time together may be in jeopardy. Boo-hoo- hoo-wah-wah- whatever.

I am in need of a distraction and so I humor Stefan and tilt my head toward the door to listen. His eyes have narrowed into worrisome jade slits, his mouth forming an unflattering frown. "Hear it?" Stefan presses.

"Is that fourteen times? Fifteen? I'm losing track. You are persistent, Brother. Persistent and paranoid."

"He's right, Damon," Elena spits my name like venom upon her tongue. "I hear it too, footsteps?"

I sigh and listen harder; as much as I hate to admit it, the lovebirds are right. I'm not sure why my hearing was not up-to-par a moment ago, but now_ I can _hear the footsteps coming. They are coming fast. In fact there are four unique sets headed our way, seemingly traveling down some sort of lengthy corridor. What's more interesting is that they are human. I can hear heartbeats and blood pumping through veins; a twinge of hunger rushes me and I have to concentrate to keep my façade human. Across the room I see Elena's eyes darken again, she covers her face with her hands, struggling to regain composure. Stefan's arms are around her, but not in a tender, lover's way - he is prepared to forcibly restrain her should she lose control and try to eat whoever stands opposite that door. I am also ready - ready to sacrifice my undead life for Elena as I sacrificed my human one for Katherine.

The humans don't knock, they barge right in.

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NOTE: Hiya! This will be a short story, just a few chapters in length. After watching the Season 3 finale my Muse would NOT let me rest until I banged this story out. I have never read the VD books, only watched the show, so I am not an expert. I am merely a Demon-obsessed fan girl. xD I hope you enjoy my little story. Feedback is always appreciated. Best wishes, Maia's Pen


	2. Chapter 2

NOTE: Rating is changing to "M" because I no longer trust my muse to keep the content tame.

Chapter 2

I don't flinch easily and so I barely recognize the reflexive cringe as it overpowers my system. I am staring directly into the barrel of a gun. It's a big dart gun; undoubtedly the culprit that drugged me and landed me in this rotten cell to begin with. However, it's not the gun in my face that has caused me to recoil; it's what I glimpse from the corner of my eye. Elena and Stefan fall into one another's arms, no doubt thinking that they are going to be shot dead, and neither one bothers to cast me a glance goodbye. Being pistol-whipped with the dart gun would feel like a massage in comparison.

I hope that this human pulls the goddam trigger and ends me . . .

But, then again, if I'm laid-out in a casket my brother and Elena will be left to their own devices to escape. Given my brothers record of successfully escaping _anything_ and Elena's new vamp mood swings, their chances of survival without me are slim-to-zippo.

"Don't attempt any heroics," warns a masculine voice from the other end of the gun barrel. "We have four darts lethally loaded. You won't be fast enough to stop all four of us from pulling the trigger, and at least one of you will die. So just step back, relax and let's talk. Believe it or not we do not intend you any long-lasting damage. Consider the fact that you are still wearing your daylight rings as a token of my word."

Reflexively my fingers find and trace my ring - it's right where it should be. Interesting that these humans know about our daylight rings, especially Elena's since it is brand new. Bonnie just gave it to her before we left the hospital. I grind my teeth so hard that I actually taste enamel powder upon my tongue. I have to play nice with the human kids, so I follow the man's instructions and take a wide stride backward.

Our human abductors are clever; they know how fast we are. They know that we could break their necks before their fingers could itch upon the trigger. Therefore all four of the humans have taken up separate aim. One barrel focuses on my face, one in Stefan's and two upon Elena. The humans are doubling the chances of Elena being shot AKA doubling the chances that Stefan and I will behave. Like I said, our human abductors are clever. They get an A+ in Salvatore-brothers history.

Stefan tightens his death-grip on Elena and pulls her backward with him. Now we three stand in a line looking absolutely absurd in our matching checkered gowns. Apparently I am the only one embarrassed by our appearance: Stefan is preoccupied with gaping at Elena while Elena has become fixated on the human who has taken aim at me. She tilts her head like an inquisitive animal, studying my would-be executioner as though he were a curious insect wriggling in a spider's web. I have no idea why Elena has targeted this human over the other three (who smell far more delectable), but it would be foolish for anyone to interpret her expression as anything less than lethal. Elena is parched—new vampires dehydrate quickly— and a parched vampire functions vastly on impulse rather than rationale.

I casually slide in front of the lovebirds, ready to protect the humans from Elena or take a shot to protect her from them. I raise my hands as a sign of truce but Stefan can't afford to follow my lead; he does not dare unhand Elena. Atta boy Stefan, sometimes _you are_ a really smart guy.

My hit man lowers his gun just enough to peek over and meet my gaze. His eyes are dark like fading embers, burning just enough to keep me wary. He is black haired, middle-aged and in great health – his blood-pressure sounds top-notch, but his moustache is disgusting. It's one of those old-school handlebar 'stashes that curl upward at either end with wax. It's icky. I don't understand how that was popular a hundred years ago, but it certainly isn't now. Even a 1970's porn-stash would be an upgrade.

I peel my sight from the abomination of 'stash and study the other three humans. All of them are dressed in blue jeans and military-style green jackets. The humans clash terribly beside our red and black checkered hospital gowns. I'm confident that Caroline Forbes would label this entire scene as a massive fashion faux pas_._

Several silent moments slither by; the humans simply stare at us, _umm . . . awkward_. As a show of good faith, I maintain my hands in the air as I speak:

"Hi there, I'm Damon. I know that I'm handsome, but you can all quit gawking now and go-on explaining what's happening here." I flaunt my most sarcastic grin.

The moustache man leaks the drip of a smile upon his lips; I suppress a gag as his 'stash quirks upward, yuck, yuck, yuck. I get a whiff of earwax, that's just so wrong. He trades glances with his comrades and I follow his gaze, making a few mental notes about the other three. For one thing, they are much younger, in the twenty-five to thirty range. The younger male is a bit on the homely side, he is in desperate need of some Proactive and Rogaine, but I restrain myself from suggesting the products. On the contrary, the two women are quite attractive. Both are petite blonds. My impeccable sense of smell tells me that they are related - sisters or cousins - as the aroma of their blood-type is identical. The most striking difference between them is their hair style. One has twin long braids, the other wears hers in a short bob, kind of boyish, but she's rockin' it. The bob-haired chick dares to drop her gun; a cavalier grin spreads her juicy red lips. _Oh,_ how I'd love to sink my teeth into those.

"He certainly _is _a handsome blood-sucker, eh?" her Canadian accent is obvious.

"Oh, stop, you're going to make me blush," I flash my eyes the way I know Elena likes it. I hope Miss Vampire noticed - I'm not reserving that visual treat just for her anymore.

The cute Canadian giggles, swapping glances with the other girl. "I wouldn't mind keeping this one around."

Moustache man shakes his head; finally ready to talk: "Let's cut to the chase, if you three vampires cooperate then you will soon be freed."

"How soon is soon?" Stefan asks.

"Does time really matter when you live forever?" counters moustache man.

"Humor us," Stefan banters back.

Moustache man is either hard of hearing or ignoring Stefan (which I don't blame him for) because he starts a new topic, introductions:

"My name is Stuart. This is Darlene," he motions to the cute Canadian, "Melanie and Daniel. We are not interested in causing you permanent harm, we simply want your blood and then you can go."

Oh goodie, they're blood- jackers, awesome. I wasn't exactly sure what to expect, but I didn't expect this. I am familiar with blood-jackers - our own Doctor Fell is one, although to a far lesser and more selfless extent. I'm willing to bet a fang that these four do it for the cash. Sell black-market vamp blood to the highest bidder.

"Damon, we need you to come with us," Darlene's tone implies that I don't have the option to decline.

Darlene approaches me, dart gun raised, and all hell breaks loose!

I hear a yelp and Stefan is on the ground! Elena has busted-out some crazy vamp moves and tossed him aside like a rough draft. I would laugh at _him_ if I weren't terrified for_ her_. Before the humans can shoot I seize Elena by her waist and yank her backward, facing me. She wants none of my restraint. I think I'd have an easier time forcing a hybrid into a strait-jacket.

I clench Elena's body against my own, trapping her arms, locking her in the most confining embrace that I can manage. Elena's sight avoids mine as she continues to thrash. Despite my squeezing her like a stress-ball, she succeeds in wriggling a hand free and claws my right shoulder. I don't give her the satisfaction of hearing _me _yelp, but I fail to suppress a groan . . ._ Elena dug her nails into my flesh_. Hot, sticky blood oozes through my gown as a sinful tremor sizzles down my spine, igniting me square between the legs. Somehow I am able to redirect Elena's arms and I twist them behind her back. Elena arches, her chest heaving, and she lets loose a string of curse words that would make Rick go red.

My creep-o-meter is soaring again as I relish how this girl feels in my arms. Let these blood-jackers shoot me down right now and I'll die blissfully happy, my hands upon Elena's skin. Our gowns are about as thick as cellophane, as we move it's like we are both naked with only the bed sheet between us. I feel so much – too much - _every-single-soft-deliciously_-_hot _part of Elena is flush against me. Elena's chest heaves again, her breasts press firmly –_agonizingly_ - into my chest, her nipples are fleshy pebbles grinding my willpower to dust. _Breathe-Damon –you- creepy -son-of-a-god-dammed-horny-bitch- SHIT! _

I fail miserably to suppress my arousal.

Although I am certain that the blood-jackers would enjoy aweing at my manhood, I'd rather Stefan were oblivious to my need to ravage his girlfriend right here on the moldy floor. Therefore, I do the only thing that I can and hide it! I press my arousal firmly against Elena's stomach, nesting myself between our bodies. My _guy _is smooshed and pointing north, but at least he's concealed!

Just like that Elena's thrashing halts. Her eyes magnetize to my own, hers are wide and wild – a whirlwind of nutmeg and shock and . . .

Stefan's timing blows. He chooses _now _to aide me and snatches Elena's legs right out from under her. I turn my hips toward the wall and, mercifully, Stefan's sheer presence had deflated my lust. Elena starts fighting again, but Stefan and I detain her with ease. Elena snarls as murderous veins embellish her eyes, and . . . for a split-second I think that it's Katherine in my arms, for how could this venomous creature be my Elena?

But then Elena belts words that Katherine never would: "It's not right!" she zeros-in on Stuart. "You shouldn't take vampire blood! I would gladly donate my blood to help someone who needed it, but playing with vampire blood is not something to take lightly! If a human dies with our blood in their system then they become a vampire, like me," emotion hitches in her throat and she goes limp in my arms, she is done fighting. It pains me, but I let Elena go, relinquishing her into Stefan's embrace. She is still the voice of morals, she is still my Elena.

Stuart and the other humans seem a tad dumbfounded by all that has just happened. Granted Elena, Stefan and I moved at vampire-speed throughout the entire squabble, so it really was only a few blurry seconds to their meager-human eyesight. However, they know that Elena tried to attack and I intercepted. Thankfully none of them decided to open fire.

Finally moustache man de Stuart offers a delayed reply to Elena's words: "We know what vampire blood can do. It is of no consequence to you what happens to the blood after we collect it. After you have served your purpose, and providing that you have behaved, you will be set free. Be warned that the next time you lash out, Elena, we will shoot you." Stuart pauses and starts again: "No, the next time you lash out we will shoot Stefan or Damon, consider that instead. In any event, we did not come down here to collect your blood specimens right now. As Darlene said a moment ago, we've come down here to borrow you, Damon."

Everyone's sight combines upon me like a ginormous spotlight. I generally like being the center of attention, but this is just uncomfortable and I wish that I had some real clothes on!

Stuart explains: "We've been observing you since you've woken up and, Damon, you have suffered a reaction to our darts. We need to thoroughly examine you before we can process you as a qualified specimen donor."

"Are you referring to that seizure that he just had? I thought that my brother was going to die! What the hell did you do to him?" shouts Stefan. My brother is angry, really angry. I wonder if these jackers realize that they've confined a retired ripper?

Elena joins-in the anger chorus: "Damon was convulsing! Why?"

Now, don't get me wrong, I appreciate Stefan's and Elena's concern. SERIOUSLY though, you'd think that this was the worst thing I'd ever experienced. Have they both developed amnesia? Do they remember any of the shit Katherine and Klaus have put me through lately? Or what about Bonnie hard-boiling my brain? A potential seizure is about as scary as a threat from Jeremy.

For whatever reason, Stuart actually humors the lovebirds and answers: "At least one out of every six vampires we dart has a reaction. Very seldom is it fatal. We are just going to borrow Damon for a physical examination and run some tests. We need to make certain that he is a candidate for specimen collection. We ran preliminary labs on all of you while you were unconscious and, all three of you – your blood—is immensely valuable to us! We want to keep you as healthy as possible. This is step one in maintaining Damon's health."

"Then bring us with you. Don't just take my brother away! Damon, Elena and I stick together." Stefan won't give up. He and Stuart continue to verbally volley over what is best for me like I'm a little helpless kid. I should be pissed. I want to participate . . . I need to . . .

. . . But, I . . . I can't.

My eyelashes must be coated in lead because I can't open them.

I'm too weak. I'm too tired.

I'm too tired to think. I shake my head attempting to fling away the drowsiness like raindrops.

I feel burning candle wax searing through the veins in my right forearm.

I'm not really sure what is going on. All I can think about is Stefan and how dammed stubborn he is, he can't just wave the white flag and let them take me. It's in his best interest, it's in Elena's best interest, but _he just can't_. He loves me . . . and suddenly . . .

The mere thought of spending the rest of my eternal existence without him in it is an-overwhelmingly-daunting- and-unbearable-thing-to-even-attempt-to-comprehend –and-trying –to- comprehend –it- is -crushing –my- skull- like- warewolf- jaws-_BREATHE DAMON_!

Why is it that his happiness and my happiness once again rely on the same player? We can't both be with this girl and we can't both be happy without her. If Elena was with me then Stefan would be unhappy and I'd be unhappy because he's unhappy- blahhhh.

I don't know where I am - if I am standing up or flat on my face, but I can hear Stuart's voice again: "That's sweet, Stefan, but no. You three are far too dangerous. We can't securely transport all of you at once. No, you and Elena stay here."

"But we promise not to fight with you, we'll cooperate!"

"After what Elena just pulled, we can't possibly take the risk. NO."

I must be on my feet because no one suspects that I have gone blind. I gather my voice and throw every word that I can muster: "It's fine, Stefan. I'll-I'll go with them . . . If they-they-they . . . wanted to hurt us they would have-already, um . . ."

Holy hell, I sound sloshed off my ass!

The room falls silent.

Then I just plain fall over.

I fall directly into a vat of black ink.

I hear Elena in the distance, muffled and screaming: "Back-off bitch!"

But now my ear-canal has filled with ink too. My lead-weighted eyelashes must be causing me to sink faster and faster down the well of darkness. Being a vampire I can't really drown, so I'm not frightened. I don't fight it.

I just sink . . .

. . . into the ink. . .

. . . until I can. . . no-longer. . . think.

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NOTE: If you are enjoying this story (or even if you hate it!), please take a moment to leave a review! I really appreciate it and my muse is inspired by feedback. Best wishes, Maia's Pen


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I remember a recent event where Klaus through a bitch-fit and hurled a wedge of fencing through the Gilbert house. Why, prey tell, would he engage in such a temperamental act of barbarism? Because he was not invited in, of course. Klaus was such a swell guy! _Well,_ right now, I feel the way that sorry slab of wood must have felt. I ache down to my very core. My back, my legs, my arms, hell, even my eyebrow hair is whining for sympathy. Unfortunately there is no one around to dole any sympathy out. I am all alone in some windowless hospital room, strapped to a stretcher like a metal patient and too weak snap my restrains. What's more unfortunate is that I am still wearing the ugly checkered hospital gown. I can't help but wonder if Rick is watching me on the Other Side and laughing his ghostly ass off at this scene?

I should not concern myself with imaginary ghoul Rick gaining amusement from my misery. I need to concentrate on an escape-plan from the blood-jackers. I need to invest some time in being freaked-out by the fact that I have blacked-out, freaked-out that I have no idea where I am - where Stefan and Elena are. But that's easier thought than, well, thought.

While I was unconscious I'm pretty sure that my brain cells indulged in a buffett of Red Bull and Pixie Stix. I can't focus! I can't steady a spotlight on any singular thought. My ideas are stuttering and jutting erratically across my brain like wind-up toys - every time I try to pinpoint my focus upon an idea it just darts to the side!

Did I just compare my thoughts to wind-up toys? That's so 1910, uggh! Way to show your age Damon.

I doubt Rick ever played with wind-up toys. If he did they were probably plastic, not the quality tin variety that were popular in his grandfather's tot hood. Rick was probably more of a G.I. Joe kid anyway. All I can do is speculate these _super important_ details of Rick's childhood, it's not like I can text him a ask him about his toys. _Rick is dead_ . . . what a waste. He knew how to appreciate good bourbon. I bet he'd at least laugh at my text inquiring about his childhood toys, depending on his mood he might have humored me and replied, or ignored me not wanting to reinforce Drunken Damon's annoying antics. I wish I knew what he might say. I wish I'd listened to him better while I had the chance.

Damn, what a waste. What a shame for so many reasons, but of course, my thoughts always go back to her. Once again she is guardian-less. Adopted parents, biological parents, guardians . . . Kaput. Now does a guilty insurgence barrage my hyper little brain cells, sobering them like cancer. Regret, agony, envy, sorrow - they stomp back and forth from my heart to my brain, leaving my insides a trail of emotional rubble.

If I can't drown myself in blood or bourbon then I will fall prey to _feeling_.

_Don't go there, Damon, not here, not now. _

But I can't get off of the rollercoaster once it has left the gate.

I should not be bitter or angry that she chose Stefan. It wasn't really a surprise. I admit that she got my hopes up (along with a certain part of my male anatomy) during our little road trip. But again, I am not really surprised. If anything, I guess I should be thankful for this whole_ Elena Experience_ – she's showed me that I am capable of loving again. I spent almost 150 years loving Katherine and now the mere thought of her gives me the heebeegeebees. If I can overcome more than a century of devotion to Katherine then I can certainly triumph over my feelings for Elena Gilbert. I've known Elena for a fragmental blip in my existence compared to Katherine, so getting over her should be easy-peasy.

I know that Elena never meant to hurt me, not like Katherine did, but she did hurt me. If I had a functional heart I'm sure that it would have splintered just like Klaus' fence post. I guess it technically is already broken though, seeing as it sits cold and mechanical in my chest, just like Katherine's heart and just like Elena's does now.

Wow, Elena Gilbert is a vampire. The idea is still foreign in my mind, making me twitch like a parasital brain–eating worm.

Were things better when she was a human? Elena being human meant that Stefan was still going to be my brother long after she was dead. So, hypothetically, being with Elena didn't really put a permanent halt to an eternity of brotherly bonding. Sure Stefan would probably annoy the shit out of me until the end of days, but at least we'd be together. Maybe the sentimental side of me was looking forward to that? Then again, was I ever really going to allow Elena to grow frail and die? Wouldn't I have stepped-in if Doctor Fell had (unintentionally) not? But, mercifully, I'll never have to make that call. Fate called it for her, for all of us.

Elena is no longer human, she is a vampire and it changes everything. Providing that we survive whatever _this is,_ for the rest of existence I have to deal with Elena and Stefan as a package deal. I can only hope that the feelings I have for her will subside and lessen over time like my feelings for Katherine have, and logically, they should. There are other fish in the sea and no shortage of women who would love to ravage me. Maybe eternity won't be so bad? Maybe I don't have to be a loner? Maybe I can learn to accept the lovebirds and be glad for them? If I can do that then we can all be one big happy-sharp-toothed-family forever and ever and ever . . .

I think I just threw-up in my mouth.

It's the connection I share with Elena that's special, intense - that I haven't been able to find with anyone else. Granted I haven't exactly been open to finding love with anyone else as I've been so deadest on finding Katherine since 1864. I wasn't even looking for real love, Elena just snuck up and bit me - or rather I wish that I had snuck up and bitten her, but you get the point, pun intended. I digress.

I wasn't expecting to fall in love with Elena. But _because_ I wasn't expecting to fall in love with her, maybe the same thing can happen for me again? Maybe I can fall in love with someone else? Providing that is even what I want. Or maybe I can be okay by just being me? The loner. The bad ass brother who enjoys casual sex with anyone, anytime and then cuts the strings. It's an easy existence.

But is that the problem? Do I want to exist or do I want to _live_? Live as sensually and emotionally full as I possibly can? Do I want more? And, if so, do I want more with a human, like Elena was, whose existence is fleeting and I don't have to worry about the long-term? A relationship with another vampire could potentially be . . . very, very long. What if I got bored? What if I didn't? I can't imagine someone not driving me crazy after a few decades, but maybe if this hypothetical female was _the one _ - my soul mate or whatever crap - then I would relish every minuscule second that she _did_ make me loony, thrive on it, exist _for it . . . like I do right now with_ _Ele-No._ I don't know what I want if I can't have her. I know that I wanted Katherine for over a hundred years. I know that I want Elena right this second. Pursuing unattainable women nonstop for so many years must be psychologically unhealthy - like force-feeding my psyche fast-food. I think I need some psychological granola, a reprieve from women who prefer Stefan anyway.

The problem is that unhealthy shit is addictive. I don't have the resolve to just get away from her! I need to be around Elena, I survive off of the crumbs of attention she tosses my way. Any attention that she gives me, even negative attention, fuels me - excites me, spurs me on.

From the moment I laid eyes on Elena I knew that I was powerless. There was nothing that I could do to protect myself from her. I have been fighting a losing battle with my own heart. My heart waved the white flag before a threat was even set upon the table. No contest. K.O. I actually thought that I was holding my own until she kissed me at that scuzzy motel. She kissed me. Elena kissed me.

Her final human words haunt me worse than Rick's sarcastic smile.

_Maybe if you and I had met first . . . _

You and I did meet first, Elena.

I met her first and she now knows it. She remembers it and she is livid as all hell with me.

Is it even possible that Elena is angry because she has now run out of excuses not to acknowledge – not to embrace—what has been smoldering between us since that night I mistook her for Katherine on the road? Maybe it was an instant Cupid's Arrow for her too? Maybe her feelings have been there, subconsciously, this entire time and she's been fighting them and fighting them and fighting them so long that she hasn't even realized the white flag, the no contest, the K.O ? Not realized it until she woke up thirsting for blood, thirsting for me? Maybe she woke up frightened by the fact that she lusts for us both upon her lips - needs us both to sustain her - especially me?

Whoa, Damon, did you buy a one-way ticket to Fantasyville?

I don't get to answer my own weird question because Stuart and Darlene enter the room. Curse my inner monologue! I've spent all this time Elena-obsessing and not crafted a single escape-plan. I can envision the look of disappointment on Ghost Rick's face.

The blood-jackers appear over me, matching dart guns aimed at my chest. I am immediately struck by two things and, luckily, neither one is a dart. One: the Canadian girl smells delectable. Two: the ear wax strewn throughout Stuart's moustache smells absurdly foul. How can he stand to have it wafting right up his nostrils?

I suppress an earwax induced gag as I speak: "The guns are unnecessary, I'm strapped to the bed, thanks."

Darlene giggles in an adorable kanookish way. Despite her carefree laugh, her sight burns me like emerald lasers, assessing whether or not my restrains seem secure. "One can never be too careful," she admits. "Keep that in mind, I'll shoot if you move a finger."

Darlene didn't say anything about flapping my lips: "and here I always thought that Canadians were so sweet and polite."

"We _are_ sweet and polite to _living_ creatures."

"Touché. I like you."

Those emerald lasers flare with challenge as she says: "Oh, Damon, you and I are going to have such wicked fun together."

I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that Darlene the blood-jacker's idea of 'wicked fun' probably involves physical anguish on my part. Oh, she's a twisted 'lil Canadian chick, my favorite kind. I think it's best to continue playing my flirt card for now; it's possible she'll trade some info for allure. I've never _needed_ to compel any female to want to please me - they innately desire to do so all on their own. Even in this god-awful gown I'm confident in one thing: no girl can resist me for long.

Well, except Elena.

Masking my weariness with polished charm, I toss Darlene the most confident grin in my harem of seductive smiles. "Dar? Can I call you Dar? Do elaborate upon these _wicked plans_ of yours?"

My ego nods with approval: I hear Darlene's heart rate accelerate and detect the savory rush of blood to her cheeks. I loved making Elena's skin flush, I'll miss that human bit of her.

"Damon, you can call me anything you'd like so long as you behave like a good little vampire today."

"Little? Dar, if you'd draw your attention to-"

Stuart clears his throat obnoxiously loud, snatching my words: "Enough idle chit-chat, please, we have work to do."

Stuart and Stefan have more in common than the '_St' _in their names. Both gents have impeccable cock-blockish timing. I am interrupted whenever I dare to enjoy a fragment of anything flirtatious and fun. Sure this is neither the time nor the place, blah-blah—BUT, from this day forth I will no longer associate with anyone whose name starts with _'St'_. Of course, in the City of Cock Blockers Jeremy Gilbert is still the King - The Douche Champion of Bad Timing. Yeah, I'm still a touch sore over his interruption of Elena and my make-out session at the motel . . .

"Getting to the point, Damon," Stuart's voice yanks me from me my imaginary game of darts where Jeremy's face is the target. "As you know we are interested in your blood. However, before we can qualify you as a specimen donor your blood must be purified. This process is in your best interest. Many vampires suffer a reaction to our darts. We have run this process through dozens of times. You have nothing to worry about."

Stank 'stash Stuart's words do diddley-squat to elevate my concern – I convulsed and passed out, NOT NORMAL. "Okay, so what _is_ happening to my body? What did you dart me with? Not Vervain or earwax, I take it?"

Darlene barely swallows her laughter as Stuart plays oblivious to my jab at his premo 'stash gel: "Many vampires are Vervain savvy these days. We've been forced to evolve our hunting tactics over the past several years. Incapacitating one of your kind is never easy or without risk."

Darlene seamlessly caries on Stuart's explanation: "In a nutshell, we use sunlight against you. Your Daylight ring only protects your outer flesh from incineration, not your internal workings, mainly your nervous system. We were able to isolate the total frequency spectrum of electromagnetic radiation given off by the Sun and store it inside of microscopic titanium beads. When the beads are injected, via dart, into the vampire's body the nervous system is shocked by intense ultra violet light. Usually the beads dissolve after several hours, but in some cases the residue lingers causing the nervous system to fail. Thus the seizure-like symptoms. But, as Stuart mentioned, we have a process to clear you of this reaction. We have to bleed you dry," Darlene pauses awkwardly, but recollects her words and continues with the zeal of someone reciting a grocery list: "Only by bleeding your body empty can we fully rid you of the UV beads. Damon, you will fry from the inside out if we don't. Unfortunately all of the blood we initially drain has to be scrapped as waste, we can't use it. After we've cleared the soiled blood from your system, you will be permitted to feed on a human to replenish . . . I will allow you to feed on me."

"Darlene has volunteered herself to refill you," Stuart pipes in again, solidifying that I was not mishearing. "Her blood will immediately replenish yours anew. Only then can we again drain you and collect your usable blood for processing."

Stuart and Co. are not some band of rinky-dinky-hickish jackers. Attacking us with internally with electromagnetic radiation is no small-town ploy. I compel myself a physics tutor once every decade to stay savvy on basic scientific advances (surprised, Rick?). I am no Einstein, but I've assimilated enough intel to know that Stefan, Elena and I are in deep UV shit. The only words I can utter right now are: "What the HELL?"

Stuart grins proudly, deciphering the meaning in my question like a Sesame Street what-sound-does-the-cow-make-quiz. "I am a nuclear physicist, Darlene is a geneticist. Our other cohorts are also scientists."

"I don't know if I should be impressed or very deeply disturbed. You four are _this_ educated, and yet you blood-jack vampires for a living? You let us FEED off of you? Willingly?" I glance at Darlene; she smiles as though she's volunteered to give me a pedicure. I'm betting that's she's played vampire-snack-food before. "What makes you think that I won't kill you once I start to feed?"

Stuart apparently thinks that the question was directed at him, another Stefan similarity: "Because we'll euthanize your brother and his girlfriend if you don't stop. But, Damon, we really do not want to do that. We've gone through a lot of trouble to get you all here. We've been tracking you and your brother for months, just waiting for those Originals to leave town. Our UV darts probably won't work on them so we had to lay low. Elena turning was just icing on the bloody cake. We always abduct vampires with at least one other loved one to ensure cooperation – getting three that are emotionally linked is hitting the jackpot!"

"Congratulations."

Stuart pinches the curls of his moustache, it's very super-villain-esqu. "Thanks, now we must discuss one other detail before we begin bleeding the beads from you, Damon. The preliminary labs that we ran on the three of you showed great promise for the healing properties of your blood, but all three of you need to cut-it with this blood bag bullshit. Drinking animal blood or processed human blood from a plastic bag is ridiculous! It's unnatural – you were designed to puncture human flesh with your teeth. This artificial feeding robs you of vital nutrients and adrenaline - it dilutes the serums restorative properties. While you three are here as our donors you will ALL consume fresh, raw human blood directly from a willing volunteer. This is the most proven way to maximize the value of each drop we collect."

And here I gave these jackers an A+ on their Salvatore Brother's history. Let's trade the grade for an epic FAIL. If I had a blood pressure it would have blasted to Mars. "That is _not_ a good idea," I don't sound calm, I'm not going to fake it. I shake against my restraints causing the bed to jolt forward - Stuart and Darlene prepare their trigger fingers but I refuse settle down. Bleeding us is one thing, destroying any chance Stefan and Elena have as sane, functional vampires is another! If the lovebirds bite flesh they won't walk out of here alive, and even if they do, they'll both be out-of-their minds with bloodlust.

"I can handle raw human feeding, I can control my hunger and sustain from killing my food. Elena and Stefan are a different matter entirely! Elena is a new vampire and she won't be able to stop herself from killing your volunteer. And my brother is a hardcore blood junky – he's finally just weaned himself off of the real stuff. If you force Stefan to drink it again . . . let's just say it's best to let sleeping blood-obsessed dragons lie, okay?"

Stuart lowers his dart gun just enough to show me that he's listening, spurting my words on: "Use me, drain my blood a hundred times if you want to, but leave Stefan and Elena out of this. It's for your sake as much as it is theirs. I am offering to be your very own personal blood factory. I won't complain, I won't fight. I'll just drink and bleed, but you _have_ got to let Stefan and Elena go free."

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NOTE: Reviews are like Red Bull and Pixie Stix to my Muse… please feed her! : ) Thanks for reading, Maia's Pen


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Another convulsion has left me listless upon the stretcher. Daniel and Darlene hover over me now, surgical tools in hand. I don't know where Stuart went and I'm not sure that I care. My current company of blood-jackers are about to sever my major arteries and leave me to bleed-out like a hog on Christmas Eve. It is imperative that they bleed me right now. The UV beads are destroying my nervous system and I won't likely survive one more attack. I am far too exhausted to interact with the jackers and far too distracted by déjà vu to want to try.

Déjà vu is a curious sensation. Curious as in frustrating and creepy. Especially when the source of ones déjà vu-ish-ness drips from memories that should have dried up and withered away like a century-old pea. As I lay here - strapped to a stretcher, waiting to be sliced open—my mind force-feeds my consciousness a memory. As I human I was able to choke down this experience and regurgitate it at the very bottom of my memory stack. Nearly two hundred centuries of experiences buried this _one_. But, just like that stupid fairytale with the princess who slept on a tall pile of mattresses, my _pea _was always lying there and rotting at the bottom. No matter how I tried to twist and turn it remained a permanent fixture down there. That pea must be effin' mummified by now but it just won't go away. I don't want to peel those mattresses back but I can't stop them, they are already toppling down, down, down . . . here I am again. Damon Salavtore is strapped and helpless again. Waiting to be sliced open again . . .

The first time was September 19, 1864 after the Battle of Winchester, Virginia in the Shenandoah Valley. I was a very young, naïve confederate soldier under General Early. The Battle of Winchester was a Union victory for General Sheridan and the Confederate losses were heavy - 276 dead, 1827 wounded and 1818 missing or captured – totaling one quarter of our entire army down and out. I was one of the wounded.

This was my first and last time experiencing the frontline wonders of the Great American Civil War. Much to my father's shame I bailed and came home after having a Union bullet carved out of my right shoulder. The medic could only spare a singular swig of whisky to numb my pain – that much alcohol wouldn't even give a toddler a buzz. As I screamed in delirium from blood loss, flailing against my restrains, the medic proceeded to sterilize the surgical knife with the remainder of his whisky.

"_Looks like it's guna have to come off, boy," _the medic voiced his diagnosis as though he were referring to my bad haircut, not my goddamn arm!

HE WAS GOING TO HACK OFF MY RIGHT ARM!

I begged him not to take my limb. _Please, Sir! DON'T! _I screamed, I cursed him! My throat burned as though I'd taken a shot of molten lava, but I continued to roar. My voice was my only defense, I could not move - all four limbs were strapped in place. The medic was immune to sympathy – deafened to my desperate calls. He raised his surgical knife and proceeded to operate. What I recall most vividly from that moment is not what I felt, it's what I heard. I heard four-year-old Stefan greedily stabbing a dinner knife into his Christmas Orange - peel snapping, juice and sweet fruit pulp sucking like a boot stuck in the mud. Orange pulp squirted up and onto my face, the medics face . . . but it was hot and sticky like syrup. It tasted like bitter liquid iron . . . not sweet, not citrus . . . _oh god. No, no, no, no._

I stopped wailing, entranced as a toy pinwheel spiraled before my eyes, each tear a different hue of red. I was aware of the medic working over me. I could feel his cold metal tools as they continued trolling deeper through my skin and muscle.

"_Found it," _his voice held triumph. _"Let's sing, young man, let's sing and think thoughts of sweet, sweet home. It will distract you from the worst." _I thought that he was kidding until he started to belt a popular verse among my ranks. His voice was rough but held conviction, I had not the breath left in me to join him, but I focused on every single word:

"_Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,  
Be it ever so humble there's no place like home!  
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,  
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with  
elsewhere:  
Home! Home! Sweet, sweet Home!  
There's no place like Home!  
There's no place like Home . . . _

_Hmmm, it's your lucky day, son, I think I can pick it out. . ."_

I was not sure what he meant until I felt his bare fingers inside my shoulder, picking away gobs of my flesh, digging the bullet out with the dexterity of his own hands. I thought of my home, of playing ball games in the courtyard with Stefan and then my world went black.

Three days had past when I awoke from surgery. Both of my limbs were intact, but my psyche was still bleeding. Keeping my arm meant that I was cleared as 'fit for duty'. Instead of joining my troop I ran to my sweet, sweet home. I ran to Mystic Falls. I ran back to my privileged life where I flirted with girls, played with my brother and war was merely a headline in the newspaper. I never should have joined the Confederacy anyway. I only enlisted because I had to – because I was my family's eldest son and that's what eldest sons' did when their country was at war in 1864. I joined because a stupid part of me wanted to impress my father and make my little brother proud. Fail. Fail. Mass Failage times 1,000. The only thing I gained from my army experience was a strong desire never to die – especially not in the pinnacle of my youth, butchered by my fellow countrymen. Screw honor. I knew even back then that I was destined for a much longer, grander life than my peers were.

I returned home a 'deserter'. I never told anyone about the bullet I took for the south. Well, aside from Katherine that is. I let my family and neighbors think that I ran at the first sight of Union guns. I did not care that they thought me a dishonorable coward, Stefan and Katherine were pleased to see me and that is all I really cared about. I recovered fully and my scar was easy to hide from everyone but Katherine. My brush with death inspired my vampire lover to offer me eternal life and I lusted for _it_ almost as much as I lusted for her.

_Bah,_ hindsight can spank my behind.

"Damon? Damon, we're all done. The UV beads are gone, but you need to drink now, you're starting to wither." A Canadian accent piques my senses – it's Darlene and she sounds urgent. Her use of the word 'wither' is enough to disturb me, but I am unable to respond. I feel stiff . . . _shit, _I think that rigor mortis is setting in, that or I'm mummifying like that pea in my subconscious. Holy hell, I am not in any way prepared to burst apart like a dusty vacuum bag today. "Damon, please . . . drink!"

Can't Darlene see that I am a corpse? That I can't react? Isn't she a dammed scientist? What is she doing . . . wait? Is she crying? What is that? Is she crying over my face?

Something hot and wet begins pelting my lips and chin like rapidly flowing tears. As the droplets begin to fall more insistently upon my mouth I realize that Darlene's eyes are not weeping, it is her skin. Her skin is sobbing thick, rich, delicious blood from a freshly inflicted wound. Drop by luxurious drop drizzles between my lips, unthawing my muscles from their petrified state. Darlene eats an iron-rich diet, full of red meat. I can taste every mineral, every sweet metallic nutrient infuses my system with energy, with adrenaline. Darlene's blood is pure, raw, life . . . I am guzzling from the fountain of youth.

I am able to widen my mouth and I lick the sticky essence from my lips like syrup. My entire body is rejuvenated, every cell aroused as bloodlust consumes me. My fangs are bared, crimson incinerates my eyes. I reveal my true self – Damon Salvatore, Vampire. It feels incredible to be me. I want to seize this foolish woman, press her willing body against my own and sink more than just my teeth into her flesh. I want to devour her inch by inch until I have expressed my gratitude and had my fill, my release from everything that has turned my current world so unbearably wretched.

I snarl ravenously, banging my restraints. Coherent words refuse to form; my lips are too busy lapping up Darlene's gore to communicate. I focus my sight on Darlene's wrist. The woman has slashed it and holds it, hovering several inches above my mouth. I snap my teeth at the air, failing to grip her flesh in my jaws. Wisely Darlene does not loosen my restrains; she does however lower her wrist to my open lips. I accept the invitation and latch on, holding her wrist prisoner with in my teeth, biting just hard enough to elicit a small cry as new wounds release a freer flow of blood.

I grin wickedly into her flesh, guzzling her life away like a frivolous free-refill. Adrenaline continues to ignite my system, the metal restrains enclosing my limbs are about as inconvenient as paper mache now. I could free myself in an instant. I could kill the jackers before they even fired off a single dart. I could grab Stefan and Elena and get the hell out of here. I could be quite the hero. If only I had been vamped-out at the Shenandoah Valley, I could have single handedly won General Early the Battle of Winchester. I could have been the war hero my father wanted me to be if I'd been able to take a bullet. . .

Ah, screw that. My old man was a douche. I'm lucky I didn't die from infection after that medic poked his bare fingers into my bullet hole. It's a miracle I lived through Shenandoah Valley at all. But I did. I lived and kept on living, long enough to keep my stupid brother alive too. Long enough to lose every spec of my sanity loving unattainable women. I am not wasting my second, third, fourth, one hundredth chance on some stupid act of heroism. I am going to get Stefan and Elena out of here. But I am not going to do it with my unnatural vampire strength. I am going to do it with the skills I've always had -– my human ingenuity.

"Okay, greedy boy, that will do," Darlene is breathless; I have drained her dangerously low. The woman can take some serious sucking. I'd love to return the favor - let her inflict some hardcore suckage upon _me_ - but Daniel is at her side and he doesn't strike me as the experimental type.

Daniel guides Darlene's wrist away from my lips. The Canadian is freakishly pale; a stumbling advertisement for anemia. Daniel practically carries her to an area of the room beyond my sight.

I run my tongue over my lips, teeth and gums, savoring every last smear of gore. Canadian cuisine may be my new favorite snack attack. Daniel reappears over my head, tisking at my overindulgence. I guess he thinks that I'm a pig_. Well, Danny, maybe you shouldn't have butchered me like one. Oink, oink!_

My palate is interrupted as Stefan and Elena enter the room. It's not a daring rescue though; my fellow vampires are being lead at gun-point.

Strange how quickly my ironclad bloodlust and bravado are stomped into particles of dread. I will never get used to seeing Stefan or Elena in danger. A pair of blood-jackers escorts them and, luckily, everyone seems calm and cooperative. Stefan's sight instantly seeks out mine, but I am quick to avert my own. I don't want to look at my brother – I _can't _look at him. I can't look at Elena either. Not yet. Maybe I'm being selfish for denying my brothers concern—for not returning his worry with a confident nod. A look that says: _all is well, Stefan. I've got this situation under control. Don't worry. _That is the message which my brother needs me to convey. That is the message which I have conditioned him to expect.

I have no idea why the blood-jackers have brought Stefan and Elena into this room with me. They already drained the UV beads from my body and revitalized me with Darlene's blood. Have they perhaps agreed to my terms? Will they free my brother and Elena in exchange for my cooperation? Why isn't anyone saying anything? I'm strapped to a bed, Stefan and Elena are just standing in a corner and Stuart, Daniel and Melanie have dart guns aimed at all three of us.

"Damon, are you alright?" my brother's voice cracks, cracking the silence and my reserve along with it. Stefan pleads with me to look at him - to assure him that my sanity has endured whatever his imagination thinks that I've been subjected too. I wish that Stefan could understand that I just _can't! _If I look at Stefan or Elena they might see that . . . that I am frightened. I am frightened for them. I am also . . . embarrassed, I hate that Stefan and Elena must see me like this, as this helpless guy strapped to a bed. I could fight back, sure, but then my brother and the woman I love would be annihilated via UV darts before my eyes. No, it's easier to lay here, to ignore my brother's calls, to play oblivious to every single thing in existence until I know what the jackers next move is.

"What did you do to my brother? Did you bleed him dry already?! Damon? Damon look at me?"

I cringe, guilt gnawing on my brain like a teenie-tiny zombie. I hate hearing my brother all nervous, I hate it when he wastes his energy worrying about me. _Ouch! _Freakin' little zombie is going to town on my prefrontal cortex. I wonder how that zombie bitch got inside my brain anyway? Probably crawled in through my ear canal, sneaky son of a—_whoa, Damon! _Am I really having this dialogue with myself right now? Yes, Vampires, Werewolves and Ghosts exist, but microscopic zombies are insane.

Stefan calls to me once more, but his voice is less insistent. My brother finally gets that I am not interested in interacting with him right now. Elean, on the other hand, personifies Silence. I would not even know that she were in the room if I did not see her walk in. Vampire Elena reacts to situations very differently than her human version. The original Elena would have joined Stefan in giving two-shits about my condition. Not that I would have answered her either. _Hmm, _maybe Vampire Elena just knows me well enough not to waste her breath.

Stuart lowers his dart gun enough to draw our combined sight upon him. "Stefan and Elena, we appreciate your cooperation," the lead jacker addresses them so cordially, it's once again obvious that he's blood-jacked many, many times. This is just business to him. "As promised, Damon is safe and sound albeit a bit cranky. As we already discussed we did preform the initial blood-letting to drain the UV beads from his system. Darlene has fed Damon and he is doing well, currently recovering from his ordeal. We have brought you in here to further explain our plans to you, but also to ensure all three of your continued good behavior as we proceed. If any one of you should so much as twitch in a manner that I dislike, your companions will be shot full of darts." Neither Stefan nor Elena says anything; I can only assume that they are nodding but I don't take my sight from Stuart to check. Stuart has obviously filled them in on the whole UV darts weaponry system while Daniel and Darlene were busy bleeding me dry.

Stuart gauges our undivided attention and continues: "Damon and I had a conversation before you were brought in. He has agreed to stay on as our long-term blood donor in exchange for your freedom. However, we cannot accept the full-terms of his deal. We cannot free both of you for two reasons. One: no offence, but we don't trust Damon Salvatore, we need one of you here as insurance. Two: We need your blood, Elena."

"What? !" my voice comes to life in a great big yell! This is news to me. I had bargained for BOTH of their lives. Stuart never mentioned his 'reasons' before..

"No way!" that's Stefan. "Elena goes free, keep me."

"No, Stefan. We have deemed you to have the least amount of self-control during and after feeding. While you are here you must engage in live human feeding to maximize the healing properties of your serum. Also, your blood type is the same as your brothers; therefore we really don't need both of you. You see, both you and Damon were A-positive types as humans, and as vampires your blood is still most effective and compatible when being transfused into an A-positive human. Elena is a B-negative, a type which is in great demand right now."

"How do you know all of this?" Elena asks, sounding incredibly calm considering the content behind her question.

"Melanie is a hematologist; she tested all of your blood from the initial sample we took earlier today. Therefore, Elena, we pose this question to you: do you agree to behave as Damon has in exchange for Stefan's freedom? Will you remain calm as Damon is now as we bleed you? As a counter deal we will only take three rounds of blood specimens from you and Damon, then set you both free. A reasonable compromise in exchange for never taking another drop from Stefan. I think you will agree."

"I do agree," Elena answers immediately.

"No deal!" Stefan fumes. "If you separate me from them I'll just come back here! I'll break in and kill all of you! I don't care if I have to drink human blood to do it! I won't leave Damon and Elena behind!"

"Dammit Stefan, shut up!" I shout at him, restraining myself from tearing through my restraints and kicking his ass! "Don't you see that Elena is trying to spare you from that fate? That this is what I have been trying to do all along?"

"Relax Damon," Stuart sneers through his moustache - unphased by the show of martyrism in full-production before him. "Stefan, I appreciate the loyalty you feel toward your brother and girlfriend, but you have no idea where you even are right now. Your threats are ridiculous, fueled by senseless passion. We are going to hit you with enough darts to keep you down for days. By the time you wake up we will likely be done with Damon and Elena anyway. This is merely your brother's way of protecting you from a ripper-relapse. You ought to thank Damon."

Stefan looks directly at me and guilt pulverizes my senses like a blood-filled piñata at an Original's Birthday Bash. "Damon, _please,_ we need to stay together . . . please, don't make this choice. I don't want to be left behind."

Deja fuckin' vu.

Those words sting.

A much younger, human version of Stefan voiced those same words once before. Stefan pleaded with his big brother not to go away to war . . . not until he was at least old enough to go along too.

That was the first time my heart broke. Fortunately I have become a dammed expert on handling heartbreak over the past century, so this time I can reject him with far greater conviction. "No, Stefan. Anytime I have sent you away it was always to protect you. You know that. Grow up and grow a pair. I am doing this for you. I would much rather that both you and Elena were set free. But as we both know, I don't usually get what I want now do I? Now you know how it feels. So guess what, be grateful that Elena and I are unanimously sparing you from this hell and stop making this already awkward conversation in front of strangers even MORE awkward. We both know that you won't recover from another dose of human blood. And . . .quite frankly I can't stand to see you destroyed again, Brother."

Stefan's jade eyes go wide, he opens his mouth but his voice fails him. Better his voice than his brother.

I glance at Stuart and nod.

_Pop-pop-pop!_

Stefan goes down instantly.

Neither Elena nor I so much as flinch as he hits the floor. She does, however, glance at me. Her sight relays her approval. Elena knows as well as I do that Stefan would self-destruct if he stayed. I may not have saved Elena from the old bleed-N-feed, but my brother is going to be okay.

Daniel drags Stefan's limp form from the room. I stifle my reflex to threaten Daniel - to warn that he had better not harm my brother. Strange as it may be, I have to trust the enemy. These blood-jackers have been nothing short of honest this far along. I _mostly _even believe their claims to free Elena and myself after three rounds of blood collection.

"Well now," Stuart cocks his dart gun, taking aim at Elena. "No sense wasting time. The sooner we get our blood from you two the sooner you can join Stefan and get on with your immortal lives. So, who's up? Damon, do you want to go again, or is it ladies first?"

"Actually," Melanie pipes up, joining Stuart in nudging Elena toward me with her gun, "I think it's best if we drain them at the same time. That way they are both vulnerable at once. We're less likely to have any problems that way."

Stuart tugs at his moustache which somehow conveys his agreement. What's creepy is that we unanimously understand the meaning behind the 'stash pull. "Very well, let's wheel another stretcher in here then."

A much healthier-looking Darlene joins Melanie in rigging up a second stretcher. Stuart's aim redirects from Elena to me. He has determined that Elena, unshackled, is a greater threat than I am, thus he threatens my life. He is probably right, the adrenaline coursing through my muscles has subsided, I'm no longer confident that I could bust through my restrains now. I need more fresh blood to entertain the idea.

I am surprised at how placid Miss Glibert's behavior _is_. A few hours ago she tried to eat these people. I guess she doesn't want to watch me convulse anymore, thoughtful. I'll try not to let it go to my head.

Darlene arranges the second stretcher along the opposite wall from my own. Elena does not utter a word of protest as Darlene and Melanie strap her into the restraints. But she does utter _other_ words: "Darlene, you fed Damon your blood."

Darlene nods as she padlocks Elena's restrains. "Yeah, and I saved his life ya know."

"I know. I can smell Damon on your skin and I can smell your blood on his breath." Elena makes an obvious sniffing sound to illustrate her point. Elena flaunts about as much emotion as a corpse. I shake my head at her, flaring my eyes with warning - _where the hell_ is _she_ going with this? I need Elena to preserve her self-control so that we can both get out of here.

But Elena ignores my silent pleading and continues, eyeing the blond like a sniper: "I appreciate you helping him, but don't volunteer your services again."

"Eh? Why is that?"

"I do not want _you_ to touch _him_."

Darlene laughs loudly, raking a well-manicured hand through her short bob of hair. "Well, honey, I hate to break this to you but Damon is going to be feeding on me over and over and over again for the next few days. And guess what? He loves the way I taste. You should have seen him sucking on me, just lapping up every drop I bled. Damon is welcome to sate himself by me anywhere and anytime he needs too. It's shame you're no longer human, then maybe he'd want to taste you too."

"Okay then! That'll do ladies." Stuart mercifully interjects. Melanie and Darlene trade schoolgirl giggle fits. Usually I'd be busy pouring blood on my ego right now, but Elena's behavior is more than a little disturbing. Is she . . . jealous? Protective? Wrought with new vamp PMS? I don't get her at all, but, threatening the jackers who currently have us both at their mercy isn't her brightest moment. I guess that Stefan's cleverness is starting to rub of on her. Yay.

"I don't need you to protect me, Elena. Just relax!" I warn, struggling not to yell. Darlene and Melanie both trail their guns on Elena's chest. Miss vampire further ignores my caution, her sight burning into the back of Darlene's scalp like a renegade flatiron. What the hell? Doesn't Elena realize what we are dealing with here? These jackers could put us both down in an instant.

Stuart takes a stab at soothing the vampire beauty: "I'll tell you what Elena, we will prop your stretchers up so that you and Damon can look at each other. That way you will know 100% of what is going on with the other at all times. When the time comes for Damon to feed you can watch. You'll see that Darlene is not offering him anything more than her wrist."

"I don't see why she even cares. She's Stefan's' girlfriend, right?" Darlene speaks as though Elena were not in the room. The Canadian's blood may be sinful but is not scoring any brownie points with me.

Stuart puts a blunt end to this bizarre cat-fight. "Darlene, you are not banging the vampire, ok?"

"Yes sir."

An extremely awkward silence stifles the room. I am grateful when my bed starts to move as it causes a distraction from Darlene and Elena's bitch-fest. My stretcher has gone completely vertical. I am now positioned in an upright, standing posture being held in place by my retrains alone. Elena is the mirror opposite of me; her stretcher has also transitioned to a spot against the wall. Shackled in only her hospital nighty, Elena resembles a piece of gloriously naughty artwork that I would _kill _to have hanging in my bedroom. But my x-rated thoughts dissolve into shame as I examine Elena's face . . .

Russet eyes dart everywhere but my own. What is she thinking? What is she feeling? Why won't she look at me? Is she scared? What the hell, Damon, if course she is scared. Klaus almost bled her to death multiple times before, he almost killed her. This is an unliving nightmare.

Melanie scurries around us, rigging up her blood collection tools. Stuart maintains his aim upon me and Darlene's trigger fingers itches beside Elena. I whisper Elena's name at a volume well-below what any of the humans can hear. Elena stirs at my voice, facing me at once. Unruly russet flames blaze behind her lashes; her eyes are a glorious bonfire of auburn and mahogany – of determination and zeal. But the tinder which kindles this unwavering fire is not hidden to me. I can peer through the flames and see what lies below. I would gaze into a super nova and scald my damn corneas if it meant reading a single verse of her soul. And so I do . . . I look.

Déjà fuckin' vu.

Again.

How many times can one heart break? Even an undead, busted heart has its limits. But mine apparently has a few rusty parts left to fail. Elena is not concerned for herself. The tinder to her flame is familiar, it's guttural, and it's a fuel that my human eyes have seen before. The same fire burned within the eyes of my brothers in arms as they fell around me in 1864. This fire - this passion- is what inspired thousands of us to sing of sweet, sweet home as we charged the Union in the Shenandoah Valley. We were immensely outnumbered and knew full-well that we would fall, but we charged on anyway. We had to because we believed that we were fighting to protect those we loved most. Our fires blazed with desperation, because that's what we were - we were desperate to protect what we loved most. Desperation is a powerful motivator, and in our case it was all we had left. My troop would rather perish than watch harm come to what was theirs. This fire is why I ran headlong into the Union army. This fire is why I continued to fight even after I was shot. Why I fought until I blacked-out across the bodies of my comrades. I was standing between the enemy and Stefan back home in his bed. What choice did I have?

My reflection blinks back at me from across the room. My own desperate passion blinding me, my retinas begging me to look away. But I refuse to surrender and neither will she. Our motivator is mutual. We are both warring to keep the other safe.

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NOTE: Hiya! I am still writing! My Muse hit a teensie dry spell, but re-reading all of your previous great reviews recharged her! Yippee! This story is almost complete, please do leave a review. I literally have put 15+ hours into this chapter and I would appreciate any feedback! Thanks and much VD love, Maia's Pen


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